Sebastian Marroquin is the son of one of the world's most notorious criminals, Colombian drug baron Pablo Escobar. At the height of his powers Escobar was said to be the seventh richest man in the world. And he controlled up to 80% of the world's cocaine trade. His unbelievable wealth and power were only matched by his brutality - he was responsible for thousands of deaths and kidnappings during the '80s and early '90s - a period when his cartel terrorised Colombia. Sebastian told Outlook his memories of growing up in the palatial Escobar family compound, Hacienda Napoli
ListenHERE

Fuck I don't know even where to start with this...a song from 1978 not 72? A fugn guru? The tequila would have taken the edge of all the coke and smack I'm sure but...watch Cocksucker Blues to see what it was really like...the answer is: not pretty

OZ magazine was published in London between 1967 and 1973 under the general editorship of Richard Neville and later also Jim Anderson and Felix Dennis. Martin Sharp was initially responsible for art and graphic design.HEREThe earlier Australian version of Oz that was published between 1963 and 1969 can be downloaded HERE+
Jim Anderson & Oz magazine

A special edition of Club It To Death, where we pay tribute to John Murphy.
John left a staggering legacy with a career spanning 30 odd years. The sheer breadth of artists he worked with is truly remarkable. Few people have covered so much ground. Everything from first wave punk (News) - first wave industrial (Whitehouse, SPK) - groundbreaking post punk (Whirlywirld) - to a top 10 album (Max Q). And so much more, including: Hugo Klang, The Associates, Orchestra Of Skin And Bone, Lustmord, Browning Mummery, Nurse With Wound, Monroe's Fur, Bushpig, Slub, Jamie Fielding, Death In June, Scorpion Wind, Consumer Electronics, Zone Void, Foresta Di Ferro
ListenHERE

Directed by Kurt Voss
There’s never been a proper documentary about the Gun Club, the apocalyptic punk-blues death party started in late-70s Los Angeles by Jeffrey Lee Pierce, who suffered a fatal brain haemorrhage in 1996 at the age of 37. Ghost On The Highway holds no pretensions to be the ultimate record. Director and long-time fan Kurt Voss, converted after witnessing Pierce get a kicking while supporting the Cramps in 1981, unashamedly believes that the group, particularly their doomed leader, are, ‘still in much need of more myth-making…My goal is to proselytize and leave the autopsy report stuff for later’.
This he achieves as band members and friends relate the often harrowing story of the phenomenal talent who exploded into the world with 1981’s seminal Fire Of Love album before embarking on a lifelong drugs ‘n’ booze-fuelled career kamikaze, though still managing to create incandescent masterworks like Miami, The Las Vegas Story and Mother Juno.
Pierce’s savagely-haunting confessionals and narcotic love songs explored America’s dark underbelly hotwired to the eternal artery of the blues. A hopeless romantic, when sober he was an endearingly-passionate sweetheart obsessed with William Burroughs, Blondie and free jazz. Drunk he became a belligerent nightmare, prompting the wrong Jim Morrison comparisons.
Former collaborators Kid Congo Powers, Ward Dotson, Terry Graham, Jim Duckworth and Dee Pop tell their leader’s story with rueful humour, exasperated anger or sometimes tears. Their disparate characters engage throughout the 98 minutes, particularly lifelong friend and Gun Club mainstay Powers, who Pierce taught to play guitar, and long-suffering drummer Graham, who confesses, ‘There were many years I had this recurring dream of hitting him in the face with a golf club’. Over a quarter-century later they smile grimly, even disbelievingly, through tales of wilfully antagonistic gigs, cowardly dismissals and missing money, incredulous that Pierce managed to demolish three Gun Club lineups which could have gone on to much greater things, although still remembering other nights when magic happened.
Light relief occasionally pokes through the foot-shooting: Pierce’s Debbie Harry obsession, marked by his peroxide tresses, was consumated after he hid himself in a shopping trolley to sneak into Blondie’s L.A. hotel in early 1977, earning his appointment as their fan club president. He found solace living in London in the mid-to-late 80s with new partner Romi Mori, adopting her native Japan as his spiritual home [his ashes scattered in Kyoto in 2006]. But it didn’t last and the home stretch of Pierce’s final disintegration is shockingly sad, especially for Kid Congo.
True to the infernal spirit of the Gun Club, Voss’s self-financed ‘love letter’ ran into trouble. After lengthy negotiations with Pierce’s estate to use the first two albums, it emerged he’d sold the rights in 1982 to a company that had just been taken over. By now, Voss had drained his resources, completing the film with benevolent editor Andrew Powell co-producing and nothing left for music. Surprisingly, once accepted this doesn’t seem to matter, the movie telling the story compulsively enough to develop its own engrossing flow [although puzzlingly interrupted midway by Lemmy growling about the music business!].
Henry Rollins, who published Pierce’s autobiography, hails him as ‘totally legendary now’. That the movie can explain why with such limited means is testimony to its success
Kris Needs (Mojo)

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

THE PRESENT
...was my suggestion to Jimmy Page for the title of the album Led Zeppelin later called Presence (an infinitely less interesting variation, without the multiple meanings, in my view).
However, as I get older, it becomes clear that the old adage "Be Here Now" is a wise one. The present moment, though only a single fold-in-time away from what has gone before and is yet to come, is the only moment that really matters.
Time Machines remains one of the Coil album's about which I get the most mail. Despite its lack of melody or lyrics, its Power lies in the way it Changes the State of the listener.
Usually our elected authorities try to discourage, tax beyond reason, or even forbid outright, the average citizen from having control of his own State.
Pictures, moving or otherwise, that Change the State of the viewer are tightly controlled, not to mention the ingestion of unprescribed or unlicensed substances, even if you picked, grew or synthesised them yourself.
Even unregulated religious or physical practices, straying too far from the safety of the middle of "the bell-curve" of what's currently considered acceptable, are frowned upon, and often illegal.
So far, few have identified the potential of sound as a possible Changer of State (other than chanting Holy Men of all creeds across the aeons), and of course the Military (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonic_weapon) if you need more.)
The last few years have seen me becoming more interested in changing state (legally obviously) not as a route to intoxication, leading to loss of Awareness of the Present Moment, but as way of opening doors to new visions, capabilities and knowledge.

In the early 90s Geff commissioned a wooden fireplace from a handsome gay carpenter friend of of ours called Spud, and he chose to inlay the words Colour Sound Oblivion into it.
Within a few months of its completion, Geff and I were standing in the Chelsea funeral directors, looking down at Spud's dried out corpse, unrecognisable compared with the charismatic ruffian we had so recently known and loved. Once Spud knew he was sick, and the treatments were making no difference, he had deliberately OD'd, but he was already nothing but walking bones.
The Colour Sound Oblivion Coil Live Video box is named by and dedicated to him. I wish I'd thought about it before...

Keith Richards, member of the Rolling Stones, is interviewed by Kirsty Young for Desert Island Discs.
Keith was born in Dartford and grew up as an only child. He and Mick Jagger went to the same primary school, but then lost touch until meeting again at Dartford train station in 1961 and discovering they shared a taste in blues music. Keith picked up his love of the guitar from his grandfather and honed his skills whilst at art college.
If one single, living person could be said to personify rock n' roll then it is surely him. He's been making music and causing havoc for over half a century and counting. His song writing, singing and guitar playing have helped to make The Rolling Stones a stratospherically successful group and his early and single minded dedication to the triumvirate pursuits of sex and drugs and rock and roll made him a counter-culture icon.
No surprise then that as a boy he would go to sleep at night with his arm around his first guitar.
Producer: Sarah TaylorDownload+

Monday, 26 October 2015

Silly Me is about the long tunnel, the one that has no light. Another week spent walking up and down the street. The quiet tension of your living room with its shit sofa. The unconfirmed nature of 'doing' instead of 'trying'.
It’s that realisation that all you have to work with is your own failure, it's the only starting point you have and to ignore it, to dismiss the reasons why unhappiness is still haunting you is a mistake. It's your ticket out of misery if you keep trying to confront it because eventually persistence rules. Not all the time though.
This isn't one of those fucking smug acid jazz positivity yawns. Large numbers of people have fuck all and that won't change. That's horrible. ‘Silly Me’ is just one experience over Andrew’s solid, hard funk loopVia

Thud thud my heart pumps blood
When ever someone talks about my Taman Shud
Who ditched that fox-gloved snitch?
Loaded him with poison like a puffer fish
Why don’t anybody feel like crying
For the Somerton somebody with the hazel eyes?
Why don’t anybody feel like crying
For the Somerton nobody with the hazel eyes?
Thud thud my heart pumping blood
When ever someone talks about my Taman Shud
He’s gone and no one even cares at all
The earth won’t answer and the sea don’t mourn

I don’t give a fuck about no Anzacery
I don’t care you got it interest free
I ain’t gonna fret about Lest We Forget
Fuck the Murdoch press
I don’t get hung up on any carbon tax
Or Ned getting strung up for being a psychopath
I ain’t really there with any class warfare
The only thing i care about’s the

Thud thud my heart pumping blood
When ever someone talks about my taman shud
He’s gone and no one even cares at all
The earth won’t answer and the sea don’t mourn
For all of the probing into whether he exists
The question’s still as open like a radar dish
Late 1948
Is sending a transmission but its inchoate

Don’t hate me for not caring ‘bout you losing your job
I think you’re gonna suit being a welfare slob
I don’t give a toss about no southern cross
Or the gulag union jack
I don’t give a fuck if you can’t stop the boats
I ain’t at a loss if Simpson’s donkey votes
I don’t care about no Andrew Bolt

Or even Harold Holt

It’s clear as mud
My taman shud
Everybody mouths off
While they’re chewin’ cud
Thud thud my heart pumps blood
When ever someone talks about my Taman Shud
Why did anybody feel the need to lie
‘less that’s Warsaw on the seashore
On the day he died?
Don’t nobody wonder where he’s been?
No tags no wallet
And his brains dry-cleaned

I don’t give a fuck about fuck off we’re full
I ain’t gonna send my kids to private school
I ain’t gonna grieve about no BHP
No silver spoons or mining booms
I don’t give a fuck about your brick and tile
I don’t really care if you’re a paedophile
I don’t care about no Master Chef
It’s as appetising as a whistle blower’s doom
Or any French cartoon
Nothing like a prune to make the death cults bloom
Why you think the whole world’s gotta be like you?
Fuck western supremacy
I ain’t sitting around being Gallipolized
One man’s BBQ’s another’s hunger strike
Why’d i give a rat’s about your tribal tatts?
You came here in a boat you fucking cunt

The golden eagles that live in the high Altai mountains, in far-western Mongolia, build their nests in the crags of the area’s rugged peaks - there aren’t many trees. Hunters belonging to traditional nomadic clans from the country’s Khazakh minority climb up to these crevices to capture the birds at around four years old, which is old enough to know how to hunt but young enough to be pliable to human company and training. The eagles are domesticated, fed by hand, and will live with the hunters’ families for years. When the Australian-born photographer Palani Mohan began travelling to the Altais to document the traditions of these eagle-hunters, known as burkitshi, many of the men he met talked about loving the eagles like their own children. In an introduction to a new collection of his photos, Mohan writes, “It is the bond between hunter and eagle that fascinated me...”

The letter is read by Kylie Minogue for LETTERS LIVE: http://letterslive.com/
Letter taken from Letters Of Note, compiled by Shaun Usher (Canongate):
When released in 1996, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ ninth album, the beautifully haunting, sometimes terrifying Murder Ballads, attracted critical praise from far and wide and went on to reach a larger audience than any of their previous records. This heightened popularity also resulted in Nick Cave being nominated for an MTV Award in the category of Best Male Artist - a situation that left Cave feeling distinctly uncomfortable and which, in October of that year, provoked this wonderful rejection letter from the musician to the event’s bemused organisers

'Lucifer Rising' is a short film by director Kenneth Anger. The film was completed in 1972 but was only widely distributed in 1980. Anger began filming around 1966, hiring a young musician named Bobby Beausoleil to act and compose the soundtrack. The film was abandoned in 1967 because Anger claimed the film footage had been stolen by Beausoleil. (Beausoleil and others said that Anger had simply spent all the money for the film). Anger then used some of the existing footage in another short film, Invocation of My Demon Brother. Beausoleil was convicted of killing Gary Hinman under the orders of Charles Manson in 1970. Anger began filming again several years later, with British singer Marianne Faithfull appearing in the film. Jimmy Page was brought in to record the soundtrack, but after he had a falling out with Anger, he was replaced by Beausoleil, who wrote and recorded the music in prison.
* Kenneth Anger - The Magus
* Bobby Beausoleil - Himself
* Donald Cammell - Osiris
* Marianne Faithfull - Lilith
* Myriam Gibril - Isis
* Chris Jagger - Man in Yellow Tunic
* Jimmy Page - Man Holding Stella of RevelationThanks to M.G.

The Bug Vs Sleng Teng sees the bass explorer apply his own foundation-shaking sensibilities to Prince Jammy’s evergreen ‘Under Me Sleng Teng’ riddim, using his Elektron Octatrack and Analog Rytm machines.
“Truly future ragga for alien thinkers,” as he explained on Facebook earlier this year. “Most people will find the link to Jammy’s original hard to locate, but it makes sense in my twisted mind…lol..Variations on a deadly riff theme, where nothing survives from the original..Steppin off into oblivion.”
Mastered by Stefan Betke aka Pole, the EP marks the second release on Elektron Grammofon, the label arm of the gear maker. The limited one-off pressing of 300 copies will be available in November via Elektron, with all profits from the record’s sales going to charityVia+
Rodigan Vs Barry G (Sleng Teng Soundclash 1985)

Wednesday, 21 October 2015

On the 24 November 2003, Martyn Bennett supported Peter Gabriel at a one-off concert at the Brighton Centre. His eclectic, innovative and powerful DJ set that night was sadly Martyn's final live performance before his untimely death in 2005